What a hairy mess this is

The year was 1981 and I had just entered high school coming off three years in a private Baptist school. For three long years I had to keep my hair cut short. Really short. I hated it. This was the era of big hair, and I looked like a nerd. That was back in the days when being a nerd wasn’t cool. We’re talking swirlies and shoved-in-the-locker uncool. But now I was headed back into public schools and the freedom that went with it. I rebelled against short hair, shirts with collars and any pants that were not blue jeans. For the next several years my ears and the back of my neck vanished under the thick, bushy main of yak fur that was my hair. We’re talking about a killer hair helmet. I loved the feel of my hair as it swept across my neck and shoulders. I loved the way it made me look. I hated the time it took in front of a mirror with my hairbrush and blow dryer to get it that way, but this was the , and it was worth it. I have naturally cowlicky hair. It’s not wavy or curly. It is straight in places with a smattering of wicked, sharp curls. Because my hair was so bushy, it would puff out like the tail of a frightened cat. At the apex of my mane ordeal, I got a perm. It made my hair easier to manage, but by then it was managing me. Still, as much of a fur coat as it was, it didn’t come close to Troy Polamalu’s lengthy locks. My hair mounts my head like mop when I let it grow long, which I am doing now after about 20-some years of cutting it as short as my private school days. The longer it gets the more I am reminded of why I went to the conservative cut in the first place. Those darn cowlicks are impossible to control. I don’t use a blow dryer anymore, but I still wield the same hairbrush with the deftness of a dork trying to be cool. That old hairbrush is starting to thin out a bit, but not nearly as much as I am. Most people can’t see it because these locks are so bushy, but it’s getting quite thin down the middle. Gray hair doesn’t help, either. Gray hairs stick out any old direction they please. Between the gray hair and the cowlicks, the top of my head looks like Donald Trump tangled with Don King. So why, you might ask, am I putting up with it? Good question; please let me know when you find out. Actually, I’m hoping that someday in the coming year I will be cast as an extra in the new Lone Ranger movie being made by Disney. I recently contacted the casting agent who is in charge of finding extras for one of the locations in New Mexico. She told me that they want guys with long hair and whiskers. I went right to town on the long hair part, but since filming is still a couple months away I held off on the facial follicles until after Christmas. I can grow a scruffy, partial beard that would make Johnny Depp proud. Since he is starring as Tonto in the movie, I guess that is a good thing. While the top of my head is the envy of many a balding man (and more than a few women), the lower portion lacks much to be desired. The left side of my face has huge, hair-free gaps that render my beard-growing abilities to a lopsided goatee. I can grow a mean mustache, for whatever that is worth. I did have a mustache from 1996 to 2008. I’d grow it back, but my wife won’t let me. And we all know that if Mama ain’t happy, nobody’s happy. All that will change after the holidays as I try to get my best Indiana Jones/Jack Sparrow look going. I need to decide soon what to do about the mop. The bangs get into my eyes, which is very annoying. My hair is so thick and puffy that my cowboy hat doesn’t fit well. When I do wear a hat, my hair curls up around it like a rain gutter. If I don’t wear a hat, my hair still curls up like a rain gutter, but with a few downspouts in it. As I look back over what I’ve just written, I realize that I sound more like a bratty celebutant blogger than a he-man columnist. Who really cares about my follicular drama or the fact that I look like I just rolled out of bed after a night of wild parties. OK, who really cares besides my wife and our mothers? The last time I obsessed so much in print about my hair was in 2000 when I had it shaved off after thankfully losing a bet during a food drive. Who knows, maybe it will be time to do something like that again. I should get Donald Trump and Don King to join me. Then we can get this whole mess untangled.